


All Write?

by vanillafluffy



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 16:08:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13527825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanillafluffy/pseuds/vanillafluffy
Summary: From the prompt "meeting Dorothy Parker in her heyday". Dorothy has long been a favorite of mine (including writing a paper on her for Lit class half a million years ago). I figured that she might have crossed paths with Howard Stark before the war. They both liked to party!





	All Write?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [4bdnsn0wflake](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=4bdnsn0wflake).



“Oh my God, she’s such a bitch--!” The woman’s voice carries as she stalks toward the door of the penthouse. “Don’t tell me she didn’t mean me, she was looking right at me!”

Howard Stark, late to his own party, looks enquiringly at Jarvis as he hands over his vicuna overcoat. “Miss Parker, sir,” his valet confides. “She was challenged to use the word ‘horticulture’ in a sentence.”

“And Vivian is upset because--?” 

“Apparently Miss Parker was looking in her direction when she replied, ‘You can lead a whore to culture, but you can’t make her think.’.”

Howard guffaws. “I’m glad we invited her--it sounds like she’s as much fun as her _New Yorker_ columns.” 

The much-celebrated Dorothy Parker is holding forth to a lively group near the bar. She has a martini glass in one hand, a cigarette holder in the other, and her head is thrown back, laughing. He studies her for a moment.

Fetching creature. She’s petite, curvy, dressed stylishly in a slate blue dress that complements her coloring. A silvery headband holds back her bobbed hair, and she’s making an interesting fashion statement with what look like fur bracelets on her wrists. 

He glides over to the gaggle at the bar. “Good evening. I’m Howard Stark. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Parker.”

“Dorothy, please.” She smiles coyly. “Don’t let me drink too much,” she says, with a hint of a dimple punctuating her cheek. “Too many martinis and I’ve been known to wind up under the host.”

Definitely fun. “Jarvis, get this lady a refill!” The columnist has a wonderful, throaty laugh. He gives her a warm smile, already looking forward to the after-party. Then he notices something that doesn’t quite fit her immaculately groomed image. “What’s that in your hair, if I may ask?”

She reaches up. “Oh dear,” she says with mock sadness. “I’ve taken home the pencil from the office.”

“The pencil from the office?” he repeats, perplexed.

“We’re on such a tight budget at _The New Yorker_ that we can only afford one pencil,” she tells him with gamine innocence that he doesn’t believe for a moment. “So no one’s going to be able to get any work done until I get in tomorrow.” She remains straight-faced for a moment, then laughs raucously. “My boss is a cheap bastard,” she confides. 

Howard shakes his head. “That’s terrible.” He has a drafting pencil in the pocket of his jacket--no telling when inspiration will strike--and now he pulls it out and hands it to her. “A lady ought to have a reliable pencil.”

She clamps her teeth onto the cigarette holder and takes it from him. Mechanical pencils are something of a novelty; Howard buys them in bulk. 

“Well,” she says after she’s doodled on a handy cocktail napkin, “It’s nice to meet a man with some lead in his pencil.”

Later, he demonstrates how much lead he has in his pencil. “Give that man a prize for penmanship,” Dorothy says sleepily.

She’s mostly naked. Howard unties the fur bracelets and discovers that beneath them are bandages over her wrists. “What happened here?” he asks, not joking now.

“Oh, just a little household accident,” she yawns. “I tripped over my insecurities and fell onto a razor blade.” She snuggles a little closer to him, and in a moment she’s snoring delicately.

In the morning, neither of them mention the conversation. He offers her a fresh toothbrush, which she accepts, saying it’s a vital part of her morning routine to brush her teeth and sharpen her tongue. She applies make-up and dresses in yesterday’s clothes, including the fur bracelets. After she’s departed (with both pencils), Howard is disturbed enough to mention the matter to Jarvis.

“The artistic temperament?” his valet suggests. “Creativity manifesting as instability?”

“Could be.” He hates to think of that bright, funny woman being in such pain behind that marvelous laugh. She’s popular, respected in her sphere of influence…it has to be a mistake, a random incident. Howard shakes his head in denial. Dorothy will probably outlive them all. 

…


End file.
